


Pretty Girl

by The_girlwholived



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Love, gxg, innerbeautyandshit, pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_girlwholived/pseuds/The_girlwholived
Summary: Fleur Delacour was the girl who was beautiful, graceful and elegant. From the time when she was young, she had become used to being stared at. Being part veela, though it was what some other girls might have considered a blessing, was a curse for her.Nymphadora Tonks was the girl who could change her appearance, who could become anyone. Awkward and clumsy, she was almost Fleur's complete opposite.But from their first meeting, there's a spark, which might just burst into flames.





	1. Chapter 1

Fleur Delacour had several interviews before she started at Gringott's. In every one of them, the interviewer forgot what they were supposed to say, stumbled over their words, or, if they were a woman, glared with thinly disguised envy. It got tiring, especially after several offers for drinks, an invitation for lunch and even a marriage proposal, which was why she was happy that the goblins in the bank hardly glanced at her.

It was refreshing, and even better that she was offered the job. It sounded like simple but boring work – however Fleur wasn't looking for a long term job, just something to help her improve her English and tide her over for a while. She had rather fallen in love with Britain on her trip there the year before, and had come back once she had graduated.

It was raining again, as seemed per usual in England. Fleur cast a charm over her head and opened the heavy door.

As she went to leave, however, the heel of her very pretty and very impractical shoes caught in the join, and she went tumbling. Fleur, usually incredibly graceful, was not used to tumbling.

"Careful!"

Something had caught her, thin, strong arms, and she stood, breathless and pulling away.

The girl in front of her had to be one of the strangest sights she had seen in this country. She had bright, bubblegum pink hair that brushed her shoulders, and vivid green eyes. Freckles dotted across her nose and she wore ripped robes with a logo emblazoned across the chest.

She smiled. "You nearly knocked me down."

"Merci – I mean, thank you," Fleur said breathlessly, straightening her headband and feeling rather flustered. "I 'ave to say, I am not usually so clumsy."

"That's the opposite to me, then. Mum always said that if there was an empty room I'd find something to trip over – oh, sorry-"

She hurriedly moved out of the way of a man, and then an old lady, apologising again.

"Perhaps," Fleur suggested. "Eet would be better if you moved out of the doorway?"

A little flush crept into her cheeks. "Ah. You're right. Sorry, can I um-"

Fleur, highly entertained by this colourful stranger, went back into the large hall of the bank as the girl followed, apparently unaware she was still blocking the door.

"Excuse me," Fleur said patiently, and she practically jumped out of the way.

"Um, yes, of course. Er....see you."

Fleur found a small smile on her lips as she left the building, her heels tapping down the paved street.

 

********

The next time Fleur saw the girl, it was almost Christmas. Two months later, her last week in England before going home for the holidays.

She was finding the job a little harder than she had thought. A lot of the customers had taken up the habit of returning almost every day with no valid reason, and it made her uncomfortable. Some of the other workers had taken to playing terrible Christmas carols on a constant loop, and they throbbed through her head until she thought that if she ever had to listen to Gornuk in the next booth whistle "God rest ye merry hippogriffs," again, she would quite happily strangle him. Viciously.

That evening she stood staring at a piece of paper in the middle of a row of houses. Dumbledore had invited her to a meeting - and what was it he had said?

"I think you have proven yourself enough to be trusted, Miss Delacour."

Fleur was sure he would be wrong in saying that the others in the order would welcome her. She knew from experience. She had never had a proper friend.

Of course, there had been girls at school, girls that she had spent time with. But they had all drifted apart upon leaving Beauxbatons, and if she was honest, she did not think they had ever truly considered her anything more than a useful ally.

The only true friend she had ever had was her sister, and she smiled as she thought of seeing Gabrielle again, focusing on the writing as Dumbledore had told her to. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve Grimmauld Place, London.

She looked up, repeating it in her head. There was a sudden pop, and she saw a house spurt out of the hard ground between numbers 11 and 13, pushing the others aside. She watched it grow like a tree, fastening itself to the earth, dirty windows and a battered door appearing, just as the note smouldered into ash.

Fleur stared, but there was nobody visible. The heavy curtains were all shut. Slowly, she walked up the stone steps, gingerly extending a hand and taking the grimy silver knocker, which was in the shape of a snake. She rapped it twice, then let it fall, her exhale of breath casting mist.

It was opened a minute or two later, by a man with a weathered face, a glass eye revolving madly. Fleur felt queasy, reminded of the year before and a time she'd rather forget.

"Yes?" He barked.

She set herself. It didn't do to look stupid. "My name is Fleur Delacour. Dumblydore invited me to a meeting."

"Dumbledore invited you, did he?" Moody snapped. "What's his favourite type of sweet?"

Fleur blinked, surprised by the abruptness of the question, but then remembered a casual remark of Dumbledore's, one that she had thought odd.

"Lemon drops."

He didn't look any more welcoming, but his shoulders relaxed a little and he lowered his wand. "I suppose you'd better come in."

Fleur stepped inside the threshold, and heard the door close behind her, heard what sounded like thousands of heavy locks fasten themselves. Moody stumped ahead in the dim hall, but as she opened her mouth to speak, he muttered, "Be quiet. There's things out here that don't take too kindly to being woken up."

Fleur was having quite enough of being treated like a child, but she held her tongue and followed him through a door, into a brightly light room. It was obviously a dining room, and people were gathered around the long glass table, and they all looked up as she entered, the conversation dying.

Dumbledore, at the head of the table beside a gaunt looking man, inclined his head and smiled. "Miss Delacour."

"Professor Dumblydore," she answered, inclining her own head and trying hard to ignore everyone else. She drew attention like a moth to a flame, and always had done. But around the age of thirteen, the attention had changed. The men were staring at her open mouthed - only Dumbledore, the man beside him and a a tall sallow man in black seemed unaffected. There were two women at the table, a plump red haired lady with pursed lips and an older woman in green. They were both looking at her warily.

Moody pulled out a chair beside the plump woman and gestured for her to sit. She did so, and then he sat himself.

"This is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore said calmly, as most of the men snapped out of it, thank goodness. Usually men could control themselves: if they wanted to. Boys, however, tended to stare to the point where it grew uncomfortable.

"Many of you might remember her from the Tournament last year."

Several people tensed at the mention of it, though Dumbledore went on in the same tone.

"I've extended an invitation to join the Order and she has graciously accepted."

"She's a child, Dumbledore," Mad-Eye Moody said, leaning on the table.

Fleur bristled. "Actually," she said coldly. "I am almost nineteen, and I 'ave received a full education at Beauxbatons."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Well then, Alastor," he said, as Moody sat up, looking a little more interested. "It seems you have been -"

There was the sound of something crashing out in the hall, a muffled swear, and then unearthly screaming. "Filthy half breeds, scourge of the house of Black-"

Fleur's eyes widened and she sprang to her feet, but the gaunt man ran out first. "Oh shut it, you old bat! Tonks!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

The voice was familiar, but Fleur said urgently to the woman beside her, "Do you thenk somebody is 'urt?"

She looked at her in surprise. "Oh no. I'm afraid that's a portrait of Sirius' mother. She....well, let's just say she wasn't exactly a kind woman."

Fleur sat uncertainly back in her seat. The portrait - if that's what it was, it sounded horribly real - screamed for a few more seconds before the house was quiet again, and somebody appeared in the doorway. "Sorry, guys. Hello, Professor. Wotcher, Molly, Arthur."

Fleur stared for a moment, sure they had met before, but her face wasn't familiar. In the end, it was her bright pink hair that gave her away, and as she thumped down in a seat the other side of her, she spoke. "You're the clumsy girl, oui? The one who caught me?"

The girl gave an embarrassed sort of smile. "I suppose I've been called worse. It's weird seeing you again here."

"Have you met?" Molly asked in puzzlement.

Fleur met the blue eyes of the other girl - blue? Were they not green before? - and smiled. "Briefly."

Sirius came back into the room, closing the door behind him. "All under control, Dumbledore."

"Excellent. Miss Delacour, this is Nymphadora-"

"Tonks," she said quickly. "I prefer Tonks."

Fleur wondered if it was a nickname, and as Dumbledore said it, she had to hide a smile. It was strange hearing the word coming from his mouth.

"Tonks, this is Fleur Delacour."

Her eyes widened. "From the Tournament? Oh wow, wicked-"

Sirius gave a cough, and she blushed. "Oh," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm always putting my foot in it, me."

"It's all right," Fleur replied, offering a smile, and Tonks smiled back.

A thin man in black, the Potions teacher, spoke. "This is hardly a social event. I have work to get back to. Dumbledore, if you would please get back to the point? About the ministry?"

It was obvious this man wasn't liked. Most people frowned at him. Some, like the Sirius man, even glared.

"Yes, Severus, thank you for reminding me."

If she hadn't known better, Fleur would have sworn Dumbledore was being sarcastic. He cleared his throat. "As you all know, there have been people calling for Minister Fudge to step down."

"Only right," Mad-Eye growled. "Weak man. Terrible politician. Can't stand him."

"But as we all know, the Ministry are burying their heads in the sand. Fudge will stay in power for as long as he can."

A tall, intimidating dark skinned man spoke for the first time. "You should run against him. You would have my vote."

"And mine," said Nymphadora, which was what Fleur wanted to call her. Tonks seemed too ridiculous, like a child's nickname on the playground.

"And mine."

"Mine too."

"Mine as well."

Dumbledore held up his hand and the voices died down. It seemed they had had this conversation many times. "That's not what the meeting is about. I had said before I will never run. No more will be said about it. No, I believe an escape from Azkaban is imminent."

"Azkaban?" The other woman echoed. "But the dementors-"

"Oh, don't be so stupid, Hestia," Snape said dismissively. "The dementors have long since sided with the Dark Lord."

"Don't call her stupid," Tonks snapped, surprisingly. "She's got every right to think that - don't you see all the articles about how well Azkaban is running all the time?"

"It seems to me," Fleur said hesitantly. "Zat they are lying. Zey know zey are out of control but zey are trying to keep zee public ignorant."

Tonks beamed at her, but Snape made an impatient noise that made strong dislike flicker inside her.

The husband of the plump woman nodded, his glasses glinting in the light. "Exactly. They'll do anything but admit Dumbledore was right. He predicted it long ago. It's only a matter of time before an escape - Bellatrix Lestrange or someone-"

"Don't, Arthur," his wife murmured, looking queasy. He stopped talking, patting her hand.

They talked about some more thing, about You Know Who, about the danger of an escape. Eventually Snape left, proclaiming the meeting a waste of time, and other people began to depart. A house elf slid into the room, rubbing at the dresser with little enthuiasm. Eventually the only ones left were Dumbledore, Sirius, she and Nymphadora.

Fleur put on her cloak, wishing the other two goodbye and following Nymphadora to the door but then stopped. "Do you mind if I ask you," she said. "'Ow is it your eyes are different colours to how zey were?"

Nymphadora grinned. "Magic. I'm a metamorphagus."

Fleur frowned. "A what?"

"I can change my appearance at will," she said, demonstrating by turning her hair bright blue.

"Oh!" Fleur smiled. "I know now. I did not know zey word for eet in Eenglish. Our Potions teacher at Beauxbatons was one. 'E would often change to amuse us."

"Our Potions teacher would never amuse us. In fact-"

Nymphadora changed so her nose became long and hooked, her hair black and greasy, until she was the spit of Snape.

A bubble of laughter erupted within her, so loud she had to clap her hand over her mouth in fear of waking the portrait.

Nymphadora curled her lip perfectly and said in his slow, sarcastic tone, "I don't appreciate being the cause of a joke because I'm a humourless git with a stick up my-"

The door of the dining room opened, and she broke off abruptly, rapidly changing back. "Goodnight, Professor."

Fleur fought hard to keep from laughing. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "Goodnight, Tonks, Miss Delacour. It was a pleasure meeting you both again."

"I suppose I'd better be going too," Nymphadora said, and she felt almost disappointed. "Night Sirius!"

There was an answer from the kitchen and she wrapped her scarf around her neck, tucking her pink hair behind her ear, and Fleur saw that she had three piercings in it.

"I like your earrings."

Nymphadora grinned as she closed the door behind her. "Mum went mental and said they looked tacky. She wanted me to take them out but I told her that my ears would get infected and fall off if I did."

"And she believed you?"

"She doesn't really get muggle things. My dad's muggleborn but he didn't have a clue either and anyway he said he thought they suited me."

They stood still in the cool night, unsure what else to say.

"I'd better go," Fleur said at last. "I 'ave to catch a portkey early tomorrow."

"Oh. Are you going home for Christmas?"

"Yes," she said, then rashfully, because she knew she wanted to see her before whenever the next meeting might be, "Maybe I could see you when I get back?"

Tonks grinned. "Sure. Just floo me and arrange it - I'll give you my address."


	2. Chapter 2

Fleur was barely in the door long enough to inhale the familiar smell of cooking when a lump barrelled into her arms. She laughed in surprise, rocking back on her heels as Gabrielle spoke in rapid French.

"Oh Fleur – I missed you so much. What’s it like in England? Is it still cold? I bet it is. Are the people nice? Did you see Har-“

“Give her room to breathe,” their mother laughed, but no sooner had her youngest daughter detangled herself than she swooped down and bestowed at least one hundred kisses onto Fleur’s cheeks.

  
Finally, a slightly dazed Fleur managed to sit at the table with her mother and sister, and began to talk.

  
“It’s still cold,” she confirmed. “For most of the year, actually. The people are mostly nice, and yes, I _did_ see Harry Potter, but it was only a quick conversation.”

  
Gabrielle rested her chin on her hands, propped up by her elbows. She was almost ten years old now, and had changed even in the three months Fleur had been away, shooting up several inches. Fleur’s heart ached momentarily, knowing that soon, she would grow up. Soon, her sister would have to face them all, the jealously, the leers, the staring. She wished she had a way of stopping time, of keeping Gabrielle this way forever, though she knew in her heart of hearts it was a selfish wish. For now, though, Gabrielle was a child.

  
“Did you bring presents?”

  
Fleur laughed. “Yes, ma chérie, I brought presents. But they’re for Christmas Day.”

  
Gabrielle groaned.   
Their father, Victor, surveyed her with worry. “You are too skinny,” he said at last. “Apolline, is she not thin?”

  
“Leave the girl alone, Victor,” his wife rolled her eyes fondly. “Fleur’s always been slender.”

  
“What sort of meals are they feeding you in England? All frog in the hole-“

  
“Actually, Papa, it’s toad in the hole.”

  
“Whatever. It is all the same, that English food.”

  
It was good to be home.

Fleur spent the day helping put up the decorations. Knowing it had always been one of her favourite parts of Christmas, her family had left it late this year so she could do it with them. By nightfall the tree was up, the lights twinkling in front of the bay window of the living room. Tinsel decorated the house, and Fleur was sure she had never enjoyed Christmas Eve so much. Gabrielle fell asleep just after they finished flooing their aunt and cousins in Toulouse.   
Fleur was tired from travelling and bid her parents goodnight, waking Gabrielle and practically dragging her up the stairs as she was still half asleep.  
Her sister’s room was at the front of the house, and she could see the bright silver of the stars in the dark sky before she pulled the curtains closed. They made her think of how far away they had seemed in England. She had missed them.

  
“Fleur?” Gabrielle asked sleepily from her bed.

  
“Yes?” Fleur turned from the window. In the soft light of the lamp, Gabrielle looked tired, curled up under her soft quilt.

  
“When are you going back to England?”

  
She sat on her bed with a creak, and smiled. “I’ve only just arrived, Gabby.”

  
“But you’re going to have to go again. I missed you.”

  
“I missed you too. Sometimes I looked up at the stars and wondered if you were looking at them just as we used to. They aren’t as bright in London.”

  
“Oh. Do you think Papa Nöel will come this year?”

  
Fleur smoothed her hair back from her forehead, an old tender gesture her sister might have been getting too old for. “Of course. Why would he not?”

  
“Because Élodie told me he isn’t real. She said it’s just Papa and Maman, and I’m a baby for still believing in him.”

  
“How dare she? Well, I’m sure he won’t be happy. In fact, she’ll be lucky if she doesn’t find two massive lumps of coal in her stocking tomorrow morning.”

  
Gabrielle giggled, then began to look rather worried. “Fleur?"

  
“Yes?”

  
“Do you think I might get coal?”

  
“Of course not,” she said firmly. “You’re always good.”

  
“Not always,” she said guiltily. “Not when Élodie and her friends said mean things about you so I pulled their hair and kicked them. And then Madame Martin sent a letter home.”

  
Fleur had to hold her hand to her mouth to cover her smile, knowing she shouldn’t be encouraging this behaviour. “What! Oh Gabby.”

  
“I’m not sorry,” she said defensively. “Fatima said her brother told her all this stuff about you, but it wasn’t true at all.”

  
Fleur’s smile slipped a little. “What did Papa and Maman say?”

  
“Not to kick people and pull their hair.”

  
“Well you shoudn’t, Gabrielle. I don’t think violence is the answer.”

  
“But they say things. Not just them, everyone. About you and Maman, even about Grand – Maman.”

  
Fleur sighed. “Just….just try to ignore them,” she ended up saying limply. “They’re not worth getting in trouble for. I’m sure Papa Nöel will understand anyway. He knows you’re a good girl.”

  
Gabrielle raised her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn and she smiled, standing up and kissing her forehead. “Goodnight, Gabrielle. See you in the morning.”

  
“’Night,” Gabrielle murmured, her eyes sliding shut, and she said something she had never said before. “I love you, Fleur.”

  
“I love you too, ma chérie. To the moon and back.”

  
“You can’t go to the moon!” She protested.

  
“Of course I can. I can use magic to go there and get back in a trice.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

It felt odd to sleep in her own room and bed again. She had become so used to the room in her little rented flat, to the noise of the traffic outside.

Eventually she managed to sleep, but it was restless, and she dreamed.

Gabrielle was in the lake again, her silvery hair floating around her hair like a halo, but she was not alone. Beside her, Cedric Diggory was also bound, his eyes wide and staring, his skin waxy.

Fleur managed to cut her sister free, and tried desperately to free Cedric, to cut his binds, but it would not work and she grew more and more panicked, and things were shaking her, pulling her-

"Fleur! Fleur wake up, it's Christmas!"

Fleur's eyes flew open, and she had to blink to comprehend what was in front of her. Gabrielle's arms were full, with several clumsily wrapped packages and their stockings, her own red one, and Fleur's blue one. It was still dark outside, and from the clock in the corner, she saw it was just past six o'clock in the morning.

Fleur lit her wand, sitting up, as Gabrielle dumped the packages on the bed and gestured to the stockings.

"Papa Noël came!" She said in delight. "I didn't look for big presents yet, but he filled our stockings!"

"Brilliant," Fleur mumbled sleepily, yawning, but she moved over in her bed so Gabrielle could fit in.

"What did you get?"

Gabrielle dove her hand into her stocking with enthusiasm, withdrawing first a little doll, wearing a blue dress. This was a tradition in their family: in fact, Fleur and Gabrielle could probably fill the house with the number of dolls they owned. They were small dolls, but beautiful, each one different and with a wardrobe of clothes that had been stitched by their grandmother. Mamie's arthritis must have pained her, for it hurt her hands when she sew, but her work was still as exquisite as ever. Fleur wanted to cry as she thought of her, lips pressed and determined to ignore the pain. They had always been closer to the grandmother on their father's side. Of course, they knew their veela grandmother, but it was strange. She was just too....inhuman. She had little understanding of the concept of human relationships and regularly disappeared without explanation. Apolline had never been close to her, mostly raised by her father, who was long dead.

Next, Gabrielle found a small toy plane that flew around their heads, a fistful of sweets, a bottle of glittery silver nail polish, and finally, an orange.

"An orange," she said in disappointment. "Fleur, why does he always leave oranges? He's as bad as Maman."

Fleur shrugged, a little smile playing about her lips as she thought of their mother, who was almost obsessive about eating fruit. "I have no idea. I wonder what I got?"

Fleur thought privately she was really too old for this, but Gabrielle insisted that Papa Nöel would bring her presents too, no matter her age.

The first thing she found was, of course, another little doll. Fleur rather hoped that she could have these every Christmas for the rest of her life, but she knew that they would end eventually, just like everything. For the moment, though, she resolved to keep them safe.

"Oh look," Gabrielle said, peering at it. "This one has a kilt. I wonder why?"

Fleur smiled. "I rather think she got confused between England and Scotland. What do you think we should call her?"

"If she is your English doll, she should have an English name. How about....Jane?"

"Jane it is, then. And yours shall be Marine, because she looks like a mermaid, no?"

"All right then," Gabrielle hopped out of the bed to put Jane beside the row of them on her windowsill, then came back. "What else did you get?"

Fleur delved her hand into her stocking and pulled out a little bar of rose soap, a pair of fluffy socks, an orange, and a pink lipstick.

"I think I hear little girls out of bed," said a voice in the hallway, and Gabrielle cried out in delight. "Papa!"

He opened the door and both their parents came inside. Apolline Delacour never wore makeup – she didn't need to. Despite being almost forty six, her skin was flawless and creamy, her silver hair the same radiance it always had been. Fleur had always thought as a little girl that her mother was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen (she didn't count her grandmother as a woman, exactly), and it was easy to see why. Even in the morning, when she should have been tired and pale, she was radiant, and the contrast between her and the small, plump figure of Victor, had never been more pronounced.

Apolline rubbed her silvery eyes and gave a tired smile. She was holding one large wrapped package. "What did you get, darlings? Did Papa Nöel come?"

"Yes he did!" Gabrielle answered, scrambling over the covers as they both sat on Fleur's bed, which despite being a double was beginning to get rather crowded. "He brought dolls from Mamie again – look! And a plane, and nail polish, and sweets!"

"And an orange," Victor noticed, with a smile at his wife.

"I'm sure Papa Nöel doesn't want you to ruin your teeth," she said grandly. "What did you get, Fleur?"

"Soap, socks, lipstick. A doll," she said, and smiled. "I have to get some things – no peeking, Gabrielle."

She got up from bed and went to her wardrobe, opening the door and pulling out a bag. Gabrielle was practically shaking in excitement.

"This is yours, Gabby, and Papa, Maman-"

Gabrielle fell upon her present immediately, ripping it open eagerly, then was almost speechless in excitement. "Is it – is it-"

"Yes?" Victor teased. "What is it?"

"IT'S A HOGWARTS SCARF!" She shrieked, pulling it out of the wrapping. "And – and English sweets!"

For her father she had bought a razor, and her mother a bottle of sweet smelling perfume. They smiled and thanked her, Gabrielle wrapping her scarf around her neck right there and then, ripping open bags of sweets and handing them out.

"What is this?" Apolline asked, squinting suspiciously at a yellow bean.

"It's just a sweet, Maman. They all have different flavours – actually let's all take one."

Victor took a red one, Fleur a pink, and after much sniffing, Gabrielle selected a green.

She put the bean into her mouth, then relaxed: it was a perfectly pleasant mint. Victor had also apparently been lucky. But Gabrielle took one bite of hers and spit it out into a tissue. Apolline, who had not tasted hers yet, was appalled. "Gabrielle!"

"It tasted disgusting!" She said, throwing it into the bin. "Like – like snot or something! How are they sweets? What did you two get?"

"Mint," Fleur supplied, the same time as Victor said, "Strawberry."

Gabrielle glared into the box, then extracted a red one, relaxing when it tasted all right. "Maman, go on!"

Apolline looked apprehensive, but gingerly popped the bean into her mouth, making a face. "Pineapple. Uck."

"What's wrong with pineapple?" Victor took the same colour.

She swallowed, making a face. "It's disgusting."

They gave Gabrielle her gift, a new set of colouring pencils she loved, and then Gabrielle gave out her own lumpy but lovingly made presents. Finally, it was their parents turn to give Fleur her present, and Victor produced a little box. Fleur was suspecting a ring or similar jewellery. She found a little leather box, and slowly, she pushed open the lid to reveal not an item of jewellery like she had suspected but a small, silver key.

"I didn't think you were ready," Victor said. "It was Maman who pushed the idea, and well – you were saying how there was no point you passing your driving test when we had no car-"

Fleur froze. She had passed her driving test several months ago, determined not to rely on magical travel in England and have her own independence. She liked driving, liked the feeling of being in a little bubble, absent from the rest of the world while she travelled.

"You – you got me a car?" She half whispered.

"Yes!" Apolline said, looking immensely proud of herself. "Look out the window."

Fleur scrambled to her feet, going over to the window and pulling back her curtains, Gabrielle following. It was just getting bright, and her eyes scanned the pavement by the house....

There was a bright orange car sitting by the front door.

"It's orange," Gabrielle spoke in puzzlement. "I've never seen muggles with an orange car."

"Well no," Victor glared at Apolline. "It was black. Your mother wanted to turn it blue for her but the charm went wrong and now it's stuck."

"I think it's a perfectly acceptable colour," she argued. "What do you think, Fleur?"

"I love it."

She jangled the key. "Who's coming for a drive?"

 

Fleur sat in the driving seat, adjusting her mirror just as she had been taught by the driving instructor. Apolline sat in the back seat, clicking the belt into place perfectly, though she had only been in a car once before. She looked incredibly excited. Apolline liked to watch muggle TV shows (though she would deny it) and knew all about muggle vehicles.

Gabrielle sat in the passenger seat, playing with the window and rolling it up and down, apparently fascinated. Victor, however, had his head in his hands. "I knew this would be a bad idea," he said, his voice muffled. "We're all going to die, aren't we?"

"Nonsense," Apolline replied briskly.

"But you said that man off Top Gear nearly died once. His car flipped over."

"That happens very rarely," Fleur soothed, turning the key and putting her foot down on the clutch. The engine roared to life, and Victor whimpered.

"Papa, if you're that frightened, perhaps you should stay inside."

"I'm here now. I might as well stay."

"Yes," Apolline said absently. "Don't worry – are you checking the wing mirrors, Fleur?"

Fleur laughed. "Yes, Maman. If you're that interested you should learn to drive yourself."

"I've got no reason to."

"Neither had I," she pointed out. "I just wanted my own independence."

 

Mamie arrived for Christmas dinner just past two o'clock. An excited Gabrielle told her about the car, and she hobbled to the window to stare out. "What an....unusual colour," she said at last. "Who chose the orange?"

"It was an accident with my wand," Apolline said quietly, setting the table.

Mamie sniffed.

Fleur always felt sorry for her mother when Mamie was around – it wasn't that she deliberately excluded her, she was sure of that. But Mamie hadn't liked the idea of her son dating a girl who was half veela, and even now, after twenty years of marriage, she still distrusted her. They never argued, just circled around like opposing poles. Victor tried hard to include them both, but they barely spoke and Apolline only ever seemed to come into her own again after her mother in law was gone. Their aunt Helene did her best to be civil, but it was clear she didn't think much of her either. Sometimes Fleur thought it would be better for Mamie not to come to Christmas dinner at all, but she always worried about her at home alone, especially when Helene's family were so far away.

"How are things in England, Fleur?" Her grandmother asked, cutting up her turkey.

"Excellent, Mamie. The job isn't very interesting but I love the country."

"Have you made many friends?" Apolline asked. "Are your colleagues friendly?"

Fleur shrugged. "Most of them are goblins, and I've been warned not to trust them. I met this girl, though. She's very nice."

She took a sip of wine, deciding to keep the Order a secret. She knew her grandmother and parents would worry about it being dangerous.

 

Their grandmother had presents for them, which she gave them after dinner. There were beautiful knitted mittens for Fleur, and a silver necklace for Gabrielle, which Mamie told her would bring out her eyes. She left early, being tired, and the family spent the evening relaxing. Gabrielle took out her new colouring pencils and began to draw a picture, while the others watched the television their father had rigged up to the electricity. What was playing was a French film, something stupid about Santa, and she only half concentrated on it, her eyes growing heavy with the warmth of the fire.

Eventually Victor retired to bed along with Gabrielle, and it was just Fleur and Apolline.

Apolline smiled. "Penny for them, Fleur. What is the problem? Are you worried about something?"

Fleur hesitated, but decided on asking the question. "Maman?"

"Yes?"

"Does it...." She struggled hard to explain herself. "Does it bother you, the way people treat you? Because you're half veela?"

"Why? Has somebody been saying something to you?" She asked sharply.

"No. Well.....sometimes, maybe. Gabrielle told me she got in a fight at school."

Apolline sighed. "I spoke to the teacher about it. One of the little girl's brothers told her some nasty things. I won't repeat any of it."

"But why?" She asked desperately. "Why do they say things like that about us?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Jealously. It was the same for me. Worse, even. I never knew my mother properly, Fleur. I hated her for that, for creating me, for leaving me with my father. I never wanted it for you, but it seems it's unavoidable. Papa used to say to me that other people's ignorance and bad manners wasn't my problem. The greatest satisfaction to a bully is retaliation. The best thing you can do, he said, is smile."

"Smile?"

"Mm-hm. It's what I've lived by all these years. You know what they called me when I married your father?"

"What?"

"A gold digger," she said simply. "Even though he was not rich. It was like they could not imagine any other reason for me to marry him. I married him because I loved him, Fleur. Sometimes I think your grandmother still wonders about that. I worried at first, that he might mind me being half veela. I thought maybe I could hide it, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter what people were saying about me, because he did not listen. He was one of the only people to ever see that I was a good person. I want you two to find somebody like that."

Fleur stood, and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Maman. Thank you for everything."

"Goodnight, my darling. Don't ever lose any sleep over what other people say, you hear me?"

"Yes Maman, I hear you."


	4. Chapter 4

Fleur spent four wonderful days with her family before she had to go back to England, orange car and all.

"You will get it sorted out, won't you?" Her mother asked anxiously, pulling away from the hug. "The insurance and everything. I wish I could help but I don't know...."

"Yes Maman, I will," Fleur said, and she sniffed a little, kissing her cheek. "Make sure you look after yourself properly. If you need us, just floo."

Victor was next. "Make sure you eat, and get enough sleep. And I don't know about that car...."

"It'll be fine, Papa," she soothed. "Don't worry."

Gabrielle threw her arms around her waist and she was shocked that she did not have to bend as much as she thought she would. "Goodbye Fleur," she whispered. "I'll send you a present for your birthday. And if Élodie and the others say anything else I'll floor them."

"Gabby, don't," Fleur said, but she was laughing.

 

When she got back to England, to her small flat, she felt horribly lonely. She had never before realised how empty it was, how the stillness of the rooms made her long for her family. She busied herself with unpacking her things, and then sat on the bed, staring out the window at her new car. She was suddenly, undeniably, homesick. More so than she thought she had ever been before, even during the Triwizard Tournament the year before, even when she had returned in late August. She missed her family and her home so much that it almost hurt, and she curled up on her bed, closing her eyes. It proved a mistake.

All she saw was his face again. Cedric. The reason she had wanted to join the Order. She had heard of Voldemort at home, of course she had, but it had seemed like a distant reality, even at Hogwarts. He was long gone and dead as far as she had been concerned, as far as they all were concerned. You never realised quite how real it was until somebody – a real person, somebody who had lived and breathed, somebody you had spoken to, somebody your own age – died. Cedric Diggory was dead.

It still seemed so utterly wrong. He had only been seventeen. Seventeen year olds weren't supposed to die. Seventeen year olds were supposed to finish school, were supposed to study for exams, have boyfriends and girlfriends, were supposed to live.

Fleur had known him, had seen him to have the unusual combination of being both attractive and kind. They had become rather close, both nerve racked over the tasks, shut in with a sullen Viktor and a frightened Harry. She had even intended to ask him to the ball, before she saw he had eyes for nobody but Cho Chang, and it had honestly hurt a little, because she wasn't at all used to being the one who got hurt. Cedric had been her friend, and he was gone.

With a sigh, she sat up and went into the kitchen/living room, half heartedly thinking of getting something to eat.

 

She went back to work the next day, Monday, so miserably homesick that she found everything dull, and by lunchtime was seriously considering packing everything up and going home to France. This feeling stayed on for the next few days and refused to go away, lodging itself in her stomach like a stone. She found herself having dreams again, dreams about Cedric and Gabrielle, until most nights she stayed awake, staring at the ceiling.

On the following Monday, things changed. The bank was mostly empty and she had resorted to doodling on her hand in quill, when she was spared a boring morning by noticing a customer outside, who appeared to be having trouble with the door. Nymphadora Tonks was standing the other side of the glass, and though the door clearly said PUSH in big letters, she was pulling it with all her might.

Fleur found a smile on her lips and sprang up from her desk, mouthing through the glass, "Push!"

Nymphadora's face creased in confusion and she rattled the handle once more. Fleur opened the inside door and walked out, calling, "You 'ave to push!"

Abruptly, she stopped pushing, and red spread over her cheeks. Slowly, Nymohadora pushed the door. "Thank you," she said meekly. "And I'm sorry."

"Not at all," she replied. "You just made my day. Zat was one of the funniest things I 'ave seen in the last week."

"I aim to please."

Fleur went back to her desk and she followed. Her hair was purple today, her eyes back to green. Fleur found she liked it more than the blue.

"So what can I 'elp you with?"

"Help?" She echoed, looking confused, and an odd sort of affection rose in her.

"Yes. Zis is a bank. We 'elp people with money. Are you lost?"

Nymphadora smiled. "I want to take some money out of my vault, please."

Fleur asked for her account number, and while she checked it up, she spoke, trying to keep her voice casual. "I'm sorry I forgot to floo you."

This was a teensy bit of a lie.  In reality, she had thought about flooing her almost constantly for a week, but had been in so much of a slump she had managed to convince herself Nymphadora wouldn't want to hear from her.

"That's okay. To be honest, I completely forgot you were supposed to."

This hurt a little. Fleur wondered if she meant she thought it completely irrelevant. Did she mean that Fleur was no more than a casual acquaintance to her? Did she mean that she hadn't wanted her to?

The clock was ticking towards lunchtime, and as Nymphadora disappeared with a goblin, Fleur stared at it, willing it to go faster. The hands seemed to crawl at a snail's pace, snd finally it was half past twelve. Gornuk put the closed for lunch sign on the door but grumbled that as there was already a customer in there, they had to wait for her to finish to go.

Nymphadora appeared about ten minutes later, tucking a bag into her cloak.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in surprise, as she saw Gornuk, who didn't appreciate being kept from his food, glaring at her. "Am I keeping you all from lunch?"

"It's fine," Fleur smiled at her, though Gornuk still glared. A glare from Gornuk was a powerful thing. It portrayed about fifty emotions and all of them were "I want to murder you."

Fleur left the bank with Nymphadora to find it wasn't raining anymore. She wondered when that had happened. They paused in the street together, but Nymphadora was the first to speak.

"I....are you going to lunch with someone now?"

"No," Fleur replied, not wanting to admit that most of her lunches were spent eating mediocre sandwiches and reading French paperbacks in a nearby café until it was an acceptable time to go back to work.

"Well.....would you mind going with me? I'll pay," she added hurriedly, seeing her hesitate.

Fleur stared for a minute. "Oh – oh no, zat's not necessary, I can pay myself – I mean, I would like to go with you."

Nymphadora beamed. "Excellent. In fact, I know a great place."

 

Nymphadora's great place turned out to be a small café tucked away in an alley. It was bustling with lunchtime traffic, but they found a spare table. Fleur ordered a salad and a bottle of water, and Nymphadora ordered soup.

She was staring at the ground for an abnormal period of time. Fleur wasn't sure what to say.

"It was the shoes," she said finally.

"Sorry?"

"Why you tripped. They're very high."

"Eet was not the shoes," Fleur protested. "Eet was the stupid way your doors are made in Eengland."

"Our doors are made perfectly well, thank you. It's your shoes," she nudged the high heel with the edge of her trainer.

"It was not. Anyway, I refuse to argue about zis. Merry late Christmas."

"Merry late Christmas to you, too," Nymphadora smiled, and for the first time Fleur noticed dark circles under her eyes. "I hope you had a better one than us."

"Why? What 'appened?"

Nymphadora fidgeted with a loose thread in her sweater. "There was a breakout from Azkaban night before last. Ten inmates."

Fleur sat back. "Dumblydore was right?"

"Of course he was. One of them was my mother's sister – she's in bits."

"Your muzzer's seester was in prison?"

Nymphadora gave a wry smile. "Yup. Torture and attempted murder charges. Bellatrix is as crazy as they come, and from what they say, she's basically You Know Who's second in command."

Fleur wasn't at all sure what to say to this and settled for, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault and I never met her. Anyway, I hope you had a nice time with your family."

Fleur sat back as their soup and salad arrived, thanking the waitress, then picking up her fork. "I did. Eet was just the leaving zat was 'ard. Coming back 'ere without them."

"You're homesick?" Nymphadora asked, her spoon pausing.

Fleur nodded, looking down at her salad and pushing the leaves around. "Sometimes I theenk I want to go 'ome for good. Nothing seems to be working out 'ere. My job is boring, I can't make any friends-"

Nymphadora's green eyes met hers. "Aren't I your friend?"

Fleur was flummoxed. "I.....I suppose?"

"Of course I am, so that's one friend you have in England."

"My friend, Nymphadora."

Nymphadora grimaced. "Please don't call me that."

"Why? Eet is your name, non?"

"Well yeah, but it's not fun when horny teenage boys keep calling you Nymphomaniac. Anyway, it's stupid."

"I think eet's nice, but very well. Can I call you Dora?"

Nymphadora put her spoon in her mouth. "If you want. That's what my family calls me."

At another table, two teenage boys, clearly on lunch from school, were staring at her. One of them didn't seem to notice that ketchup was dripping into his lap.

Fleur made an annoyed noise, and Dora followed her gaze. "Bastards."

She glared at them and they quickly dropped their eyes to their food again. "How do you deal with that all the time?"

Fleur shrugged, nibbling at lettuce. "I'm used to eet."

"Must be awful," she said softly, and Fleur's fork paused. Nobody outside her family had ever said that to her before. All anybody had ever said was either that she was beautiful or that they wished they looked like her. It had often taken all of her strength to stop herself from saying, "No you wouldn't."

Any boyfriend she had ever had – Pierre back at Beauxbatons, or even the boy from Hogwarts, Roger – had been so astounded by her looks that they couldn't hold intelligent conversation or do anything more than stare. It got tiring and annoying, and she had found herself snapping at them so much she eventually had to dump both of them and swore she would never have another.

"It is," she replied. "When I – when we came to 'Ogwarts, it was the worst. The moment I stepped into zee hall, zey all stared so much. When we 'ad the Yule Ball, every minute of every day I got letters, notes, boys stopping me in zee 'all. It got so frustrating zat I had to ask some random boy because nobody would leave me alone."

"Did it work out with him?"

Fleur gave a soft snort. "Of course not. He spent that night and every other date we were on staring and gawping, just like everyone else. I wish I could be like you – I wish I could change my face, become anyone."

She hadn't meant to give such an outburst, and her cheeks heated up a little.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bore you."

"You're not boring me, not at all. To be honest, sometimes I hate being a metamorphagus."

"Why?" Fleur asked in confusion.

"Because every time I look in the mirror I'm somebody else. I have no face, Fleur. I don't know what I look like. I can change anything, my weight, my height, my skin colour."

"Well, look on zee bright side," she suggested, trying to be positive. "If you murder somebody, you will never be caught."

Dora stared – then burst out laughing. "I never thought of that, Fleur! Not that I would actually murder someone," she added hastily. "But it's nice to have the option, I suppose. Yes, I could be a serial killer if I wanted to. I could murder Snape and never have to face consequences."

"Why do you dislike him so much?" Fleur asked.

Dora waved her spoon around, accidentally splattering the table with soup. Fleur, an impeccably neat eater, tried to hide her flinch.

"He's a complete bully, and an absolute dick. He bullies children in his classes, he bullies people in the Order. He hates Sirius because of something that happened when they were at school! He's a grown man and he still holds grudges over stuff that happened years ago."

She was in full ranting mode, but Fleur was highly entertained.

"Sorry," she said, calming down a little. "I tend to go on and on where Snape is concerned."

Fleur twirled her fork in her lettuce. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Is Sirius your father or your uncle or something?"

Dora snorted. "Sirius, my father! No, he's my mum's cousin. They were both struck off the family tree because Sirius ran away and my mum married a muggle."

"Well my grandfather ran off with a veela," she said conversationally. "And his family kicked him out too."

"I did guess," Dora admitted. "Are they still alive?"

"You're very blunt," Fleur remarked, spearing a tomato on her fork.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I admire you for eet. My grandfather died when I was two. My grandmuzzer is still alive. Veelas can live for hundreds of years. We don't see her much. When zey ran away, it only lasted a few months. Relationships like zat can't last. Veelas are just too inhuman. My grandfather didn't go 'ome, he set up 'is own company, but nine months later my muzzer was left outside the 'ouse. So zere you are, all the questions you want to ask. Everyone wants to know."

Dora stared, looking a little embarrassed and yet still curious.

"Go ahead if you've got more."

"Did....did your mum see her much?"

Fleur shrugged. "Some birthdays, I theenk. Maybe the occasional Christmas. I haven't seen her since I was fifteen. Sometimes she goes missing for a few years, but she usually comes back. I expect the next time she visits, my great grandchildren will zee 'er. We 'ad a little argument."

Dora was still staring. "You....you fought with a _veela_?"

"Mm-hmm. I called 'er selfish and uncaring so she set fire to the curtains. I didn't regret eet."

Dora's mouth was almost hanging open.


	5. Chapter 5

Fleur woke up on the fifteenth of January to an impatient tapping on her window. Groaning, she raised her arm over her eyes as she turned on the lamp by her bed. Many wizards and witches liked to live without electricity and proclaimed electric light stupid. Fleur disagreed. In fact, she thought many wizards were stupid to look down on muggles when they were clearly so far ahead of them in technological advancements – she had gone into an electrical shop for the sheer thrill of it a few days before hand and had been open mouthed at the range of items on offer. In fact, she was sure many of them would help improve and update wizard inventions and had tried to bring it up at work in conversation. But British wizards, she had discovered, were a very stubborn and very old fashioned breed.

"I'm coming," she said groggily, dragging herself out of bed and only stopping to look at the time, then cursing in French. Fleur was a morning person. She was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a four o'clock in the morning person.

She pulled back the ugly curtain, which she vowed to replace, along with most things in the flat, and saw a large barn owl all but thumping the glass.

"All right, all right," she murmured in sleepy French, unlocking the latch and swinging it open. Her sister's owl flew in, dropped a parcel on her bed and flew out again, only stopping to give her a friendly sort of nibble on the ear. She closed the window and went back to bed, pulling the parcel onto her lap and ripping open the adjoining envelope.

Gabrielle's spiky, excited scrawl greeted her, and she smiled.

 

_FLEUR_

_I know it is probably very early (half three as I'm writing this) but I couldn't sleep so I decided to send you your present from me and Papa and Maman._

_We all give you our love and everything and I hope you're not feeling homesick so I sent you a picture. Also Mamé wants to know if it is very very cold in England and if it is she will knit you some warm clothes so you won't catch a chill and she says happy birthday and the money is from her. The ugly scarf is from Helene. Maman and Papa say sorry but because your car cost a bit much it counted as a birthday present too._

_Love from Gabrielle_

_Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

 

Fleur laughed a little, running her fingers over the deep indentations of the quill of the overexcited xxxs. It had almost been like talking to her sister, and as she opened the box it seemed like she had disappeared again. From Gabrielle and her parents there were two books and of course, the picture of the family, one beautiful woman, two beautiful girls and one fat little lovely man who was beaming from ear to ear. Fleur laughed and kissed it, sticking it up on the wall.

She found some English money from Mamé, obviously exchanged at the bank, and the promised ugly scarf from Helene. Fleur wrote a thank you letter to them, meaning to send it from the post office in Diagon Alley, and then lay back in bed.

Today was Saturday, which was both good and bad. It was good because of no work, which was also the reason why it was bad. Fleur had nothing to do on weekends. She had hoped, perhaps a little foolishly, that she would make friends here quickly, but it was proving very difficult. Thankfully today there was an Order meeting in the evening, something to look forward to because she knew Dora would be there.

 _Dora_. Fleur whispered the name aloud. She liked the way it sounded.

 

She became so bored in the flat that she left early, half heartedly doing some shopping. But even this got boring after a while and she found herself in Grimmauld Place at least ten minutes early. This time, she did not have to wait, nor knock. The house was there already. She parked her car several streets away and walked, wary of anyone suspicious. Perhaps she should have not brought it at all, should have apparated, but to be honest, she found apparation both difficult and annoying.

She made to knock on the front door but it opened just as her knuckles grazed the battered wood. Fleur hesitated, wondering if it would be rude to go straight inside.

Eventually, though, she went through the doorway, hoping it was polite.

The hall was dim, lit only by the occasional gas lamp. Cobwebs hung from an old and tarnished gasolier, and heavy curtains hung in front of a spot on the wall she bet held the portrait. An eerie display of house elf heads hung on the wall, their glassy eyes staring at her so much she shivered a little.

It had clearly been an impressive house in its time, but now all it was was an old and dirty wreck. There were voices coming from the dining room, and she walked forward, pausing to knock.

"But can we trust her, Dumbledore?" A man was saying – Sirius.

Fleur's knuckle hung in the air. She wondered who they were talking about, having a sneaking suspicion she knew full well.

"Of course we can. She has proven herself before."

"I don't know," another man she did not recognise said doubtfully. "Dumbledore, I'm honestly not sure, not when she's...."

He left the sentence hanging.

"Spit it out, Lupin!" Moody snapped. "How do we know she hasn't gone over to Him already? We don't know her from Adam and you've put her in the perfect place, Dumbledore. She's not human, she's a manipulating creature. She's one of them, and-"

Fleur dropped her shaking hand, pushing the door open. All three men turned around. Sirius looked a little guilty, as did the Lupin man, but Moody faced her with a sort of defiance.

"One of what?" She snapped. "What exactly am I?"

"You're veela," he said bluntly, recovering quickly. "And if Dumbledore had any damned sense-"

"Alastor, enough-"

"For your information," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "I am not full veela, and I 'ad no say in what my grandmuzzer was or what she did! I am just like you – I lost a friend last summer too, and everyone forgets zat! Because I am a creature, non? A thing to be admired and then to distrust? An object zat possesses no feelings?"

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, her face hot with anger, waiting for Moody to retaliate, for him to say something else against her-

Instead, he inclined his head, reaching out and pulling the chair beside him out from the table with a scrape across the stone. "Sit."

"No thank you," she snapped. "I 'ave no wish to seet beside someone who theenks I am a creature."

"I apologise for that," he said gruffly, and Lupin's eyebrows raised right up into his shaggy hair. "That's why I'm pulling you out a ruddy chair."

"Well I still theenk you are a rude and cruel old man," she said stiffly. "And I can get my own seat, thank you. I am not a child."

Moody shrugged, pushing the chair back. "Suit yourself."

"I will, thank you!"

Fleur pulled a chair out from the very opposite end of the table and sat down, arranging her skirt across her knees, still hot with anger.

There was a stiff silence.

"Miss Delacour," Dumbledore said at last. "I don't believe you've met Mr Remus Lupin."

"No," she said, looking up. "I 'aven't. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Lupin nodded his head. "I couldn't come last week. I was....indisposed."

Sirius Black's eyes flickered to his throat, where she could see a ridged scar. Whether consciously or unconsciously, Lupin shifted so it was covered by his collar.

People began arriving soon afterwards, but the mood was very tense and stiff, with nothing of the comfortable mood of last time. There was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes tonight, no smile on his face. Sirius Black seemed agitated, fidgeting with his wand across the table, and only stopping when a spark flew out of it and hit Kingsley in the forehead.

"Sorry Kingsley mate," he said hurriedly, shoving it up his sleeve.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Barely anyone was talking. The Weasleys were absent, and she only learned from other's hushed whispers why. Arthur Weasley had been attacked, and it made her stomach twist with worry. Obviously nobody had thought her worthy of knowing.

Fleur kept her eye on the door, almost jumping when she saw a flash of pink – but it was only the colour of Hestia's robes, behind whom a little house elf sidled in, holding a filthy cloth and hovering beside an even filthier mirror as though trying to give the impression he was cleaning it, though it was obvious he was listening to conversation.

"Kreacher," Sirius said sharply. "Out."

"If Mistress was alive, the things she would say, oh yes! Master Sirius holding meetings with blood traitors and mudbloods and veela-"

"Get out – Never mind him, Tonks, come round-"

Fleur's stomach did a ridiculous little flip and she was not at all sure why. As Kreacher shuffled out of the room, Dora came in. Her hair was pink again, her eyes green, and she grinned at them. "Hey, Sirius."

Her gaze flickered to Fleur and she was sure it wasn't her imagination that the grin got bigger, her eyes twinkling wonderfully. "Wotcher, Fleur."

Fleur still didn't know what that meant.

"'Ello," she said, smiling right back, the knot in her chest easing slightly, because it felt good to know somebody was on her side.

Dora sat beside her, and she could smell something nice, a sweet perfume.

"I like your perfume," she whispered to Dora.

"Thanks, I-"

Severus Snape came sweeping into the room, and he was apparently the final member, for silence swept over the room. Dora nibbled at her thumbnail, and she saw that the rest of them were ragged.

Fleur wondered why she didn't change them.

Dumbledore spoke for a while about the most urgent issues – the escapes from Askaban, Arthur Weasley's injuries - and then Snape spoke.

"Forgive me," he said, folding his hands down in front of him. "But I believe I'm only stating what everybody else is thinking. Dumbledore, I'm not sure it's a good idea to have a veela in the Order."

Fleur tensed, but she could see the agreement in the other's eyes, though they said nothing.

Surprisingly, Moody spoke up for her. "She's proven herself," he snapped. "Which is a damned lot more than you've done, I have to say."

Snape bristled, but Dumbledore intervened. "Severus, I have already made it clear. Miss Delacour is a member of the Order."

"But she isn't human, Dumbledore," said someone else.

"I'm not sure you're being particularly wise, especially when we have our children to consider-"

"Fleur is human!" Dora snapped, before Fleur could begin. "She's as human as any the rest of us are!"

"She's clearly at least partly veela," someone at the end of the table disagreed. "Just look at her."

"That is enough!" Dumbledore's voice was sharp, and it silenced everyone. "No more will be said on the topic, and that is final. Unless you want to argue with me?"

The light glinted off his glasses, but Dumbledore no longer looked the part of a kindly grandfather. He looked like a man that could kill.

There was no answer. Not even Snape spoke this time.

"Excellent."

 

"It was just bang out of order!" Dora ranted out in the street as she walked with Fleur to her car. "I mean – Dumbledore trusts you! That should be enough, and Moody-"

"He doesn't," Fleur said softly. "When I came in I heard zem talking. He said I wasn't 'uman, just like the rest of zem."

Dora looked puzzled. "But he spoke up for you."

"I know," she said, scuffing at the ground with her boot. "And I don't understand that either. I fought with 'im, and all he did was say sorry."

"Mad-Eye apologised to you?" Dora repeated, wide eyed.

"Yes," she said dismissively. "Or tried to. He pulled out a chair, but I wasn't going to sit beside 'im – 'e said I was a creature!"

"Blimey, Fleur, I've never heard of anyone getting Mad-Eye to apologise! That's special, that is! He respects you now because you stood up to him."

Fleur shook her head and walked on. "Impossible."

"No, he really does. He loves when people can stand up for themselves – oh Merlin."

She ground to a halt and Fleur paused. "What is eet?"

"Is that your car?"

Fleur walked up to it and patted its orange bonnet lovingly. "Yes."

"It – it's orange!"

"Well done," she said with a smile. "Yes, eet's orange. My parents got eet for me for Christmas and my birthday."

"Is it your birthday soon?"

Fleur pushed back silver hair as it blew into her face. "Today, actually."

"Oh! Well, happy birthday! What age are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Are you going out?"

"No," she said truthfully. "I don't really 'ave anyone to go out with."

She felt a little bit depressed from the meeting, though she did not admit it to Dora. She considered not going back at all.

"What will you do when you get home?"

"'Ome? Oh – the flat. I don't know. Maybe read and go to bed."

Dora stared. "All right."

"All right what?"

"You need a taste of proper London nightlife, you do. A book and bed on your birthday! What age are you, nineteen or ninety? I'm taking you out."

"You don't 'ave to feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you."

Fleur looked down at her jumper and jeans, then unlocked the car. "All right, but let me go back to change. 'Op in."


	6. Chapter 6

Fleur left the car dawdling, Dora still sitting in it, and dashed inside. She wasn't sure why she was so excited. Perhaps it was for a night of fun, but perhaps it was moreso for spending more time with Dora. She found herself taking care with her appearance, deciding against too fancy and going instead for a sort of fancy casual, reminding herself that Dora had taken off her robes and was wearing only her usual ripped jeans and a leather jacket. But then, Fleur was sure Dora could look good in anything. She dithered for a while, eventually settling on a nice velvet skirt and a pair of tights as it was still cold, leaving on her flat shoes for driving but bringing her heels along. She pulled a cropped stripy top over her head, finishing with a light jacket. She left her hair down but outlined her eyes, put on some lipstick, sprayed some perfume and then went out to the car.

Dora stared. She seemed, for once, lost for words.

"What is it?" Fleur asked, tugging self consciously at her skirt. "Is my skirt too short?"

Dora cleared her throat. "No – I....it's perfect. You look great."

Fleur smiled at her and sat into the driver's seat.  "Of course I do. Where to?"

 

Dora directed her towards a muggle club in central London. There was a long line, however, and as they watched, the bouncers shook their heads at the people at the front of the queue and put down a barrier.

"Oh," Fleur said in disappointment. "Zey are not letting anyone else in."

"That's what they think," Dora twinkled, jumping out of the car. "Take my hand."

Fleur took her warm hand in her own, and suddenly the word twisted, and it felt like she was being shoved down a very narrow tube. When it right, her stomach was twisting, and sudden noise filled her ears.

"I 'ate apparation," she complained, running a hand through her hair and readjusting it. "Eet always ruins my 'air."

Already she was doing what she had feared: attracting attention. Across the room, she met the eyes of a blonde haired boy, whose gaze narrowed in in her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid –

"Let's go somewhere else," she said quickly.

Dora was already dancing. "Sorry."

"Let's go somewhere else!" She shouter. "To the back. Eet is too loud here."

Dora laughed. "That's the best part! All right then."

They went to the back and danced for a bit, and then Dora put her face close to hers. For one mad moment Fleur thought she was going to kiss her, but she was instead talking, yelling over the music.

"D'you want a drink?"

"Okay," she said, but knew very little about muggle drinks and hesitated.

Dora smiled. "Vodka and coke?"

"Okay," she said again, but as Dora disappeared, she saw the same boy from earlier pushing his way through the crowd towards her.

"Excuse me," Fleur murmured, pushing past people. "Excuse me – oh, sorry-"

A few girls glared at her, and then one hit her painfully in the stomach with her bag. Winded, Fleur stopped, knowing it to be far from accidental.

She heard a voice over the music, knew it was his. "Hey Gorgeous! Wait up!"

She stopped, cornered. His eyes were wild, either with alcohol or something else, and his breath stank of cigarettes. He said something, but she couldn't hear him over the music. "I'm sorry?"

"You're beautiful!"

"I know zat," she said irritably. "You are not telling me anything new. What do you want?"

"You! Want a drink?"

"No thank you. I 'ave to go and find my friend."

"Sexy accent! You German?"

"French. Excuse me-"

She had barely got away from him when someone's hand closed over her wrist, yanking her back. A girl, dark haired and furious. "Get away from him!"

"I'm not interested in 'im," she told her. "Seriously, if 'e was the last man-"

"I saw you making eyes at him," she jabbed a finger, tipped with a long false nail, at her. "Talking to him. Stay away from him, you hear? You're just a leggy blonde bitch! He can't stand you. You were all over him like a vine!"

Fleur was five seconds away from taking out her wand, having had her fill of abuse for the day. But she forced herself to calm down, counting to ten. The music thumped inside her head, giving her an ache. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to France, to her parents, where everything would be all right. She wanted to be Gabrielle's age, to be a child, to not have to deal with this.

"Do you hear me? Stay away from him or I'll kick your fucking teeth in!"

The girl walked off, dragging her boyfriend behind her just as Tonks came back with drinks.

"Everything okay?" She asked, frowning, and Fleur couldn't stop tears coming into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Dora, I know I'm ruining everything, but I want to go."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, sniffing, determined she wouldn't see her cry. Fleur hated to let people see her cry. But a tear slid out nonetheless, and Dora's expression softened and became concerned. "You're crying!"

"I'm not. Eet is the lights in this place. Zey are too bright. And I – I 'ave 'ayfever!"

"As you get in January," she said softly. "Fleur, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes! Now can we leave, please, Dora?"

There must have been something in her voice, for Dora put down the drinks and took her hand, the familiar sucking feeling making her feel worse. And then cold night air was caressing her cheeks and they were standing in an alleyway.

Dora was watching her. "Fleur-"

"I'm okay! Do you want a lift home or not?"

"Okay," she said quietly.

The walk to the car was a long way. Fleur hadn't noticed on the way in. She walked quicker than Dora, keeping her strides long, wanting to get rid of her angry energy. In that moment she hated everything about herself, she hated herself for wearing makeup and nice clothes, she hated herself for being part veela, she hated herself for having nice hair and nice eyes and-

"Oi!"

Fleur froze. Three men, old enough to be her father, were smoking outside a pub, and looking at her as though she were a prime cut of meat on display in a butcher's.

Dora spoke for her. "She's only nineteen, you filthy perverts!"

"And very well developed too, sweetheart. Oi Blondie! Ditch Pinky and come for a pint, eh?"

Fleur couldn't stop the tears this time. They spilled down her cheeks in a waterfall.

She ran, despite her heels, ran in no particular direction, wanting to get away. She heard Dora yelling at the men behind her, heard them yell back. She heard footsteps and ran faster, thinking maybe it was them, running after her, waiting to catch her-

"Fleur! Fleur, stop, please, Fleur! Talk to me!"

"Why?" She said, stopping by a row of houses. "So you can say the same as zem? So you can tell me I'm a creature too?"

"Don't be stupid, Fleur. You're not a creature."

"Zat's not what they theenk, not what anyone theenks."

"I think that," she said breathlessly. "I think you're human, Fleur. You're just as human as I am."

Fleur snorted tearfully. "I am part veela, am I not? That's what makes them all stare, what makes them all theenk-"

Suddenly, quite suddenly it made her blink, Dora kissed her. One second she was staring at her, the next her lips were on hers, and Fleur kissed her right back. Her lips were soft and warm, and Dora wrapped her arms around her waist-

Dora broke away, even more breathless. "Was that okay?"

"Of course eet was okay, strange Eenglish girl," Fleur said, offering a watery smile. "I 'ave been wanting to do zat for a long time."

Dora smiled back, then unfortunately unwound her arms. "Are you okay to go home? Do you want me to come with you?"

Fleur stared.

"Not like that," she said hurriedly, her cheeks becoming slightly pink. "I meant – like a friend."

Fleur thought of the cold and empty flat, of the long night that stretched ahead. "You could sleep on my sofa," she offered tentatively. "If you wanted to."

Dora apparently did want to. She went to a muggle phonebooth and rang home. Fleur waited outside, and heard her exasperated tone.

"Yes Mum....she's French, Mum....yes Mum....no Mum....for Merlin's sake, Mum....don't call me that, Mum....yes, I love you too.....'night."

She put down the phone and came back out into the street. "I swear, sometimes Mum thinks I'm three, not twenty three."

"Muzzers always fuss," Fleur said, with a smile. "It's 'ow they show they care. Fathers too."

"Mum's over the top," she murmured, but Fleur could tell she too knew why.

They went back to the car and sat in. Fleur wiped her eyes and then looked with distaste at her smeared makeup in the mirror.

"Zee bastards ruined my makeup."

Dora laughed, tugging her seatbelt on. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Of course. I look like a – an albino panda!"

Dora laughed so hard she choked. "You still look lovely," she offered. "Honestly."

"I know," she said, and sighed.

 

When they got back to the house Fleur changed for bed. She felt a little self conscious in her lace pyjamas, and was sure Dora wouldn't wear a pair. Instead, she tossed her a comfy oversized shirt that had once belonged to her father, along with a pair of shorts. "Are zese okay?"

"They're perfect, thanks," Dora said. Her legs were long and taut, strong with muscle from her training. She examined them carefully. "Do you think I'm too pale?"

Fleur shrugged, but she made a strange expression as though confused, and her skin suddenly glowed with a healthy tan.

"I wish I could do that," Fleur said wistfully. She padded into the kitchen space, looking through the window to the living room. "Do you want a drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Um...." Fleur examined her mostly empty fridge. "You can 'ave mulberry wine or some firewhisky I got for Christmas from work."

"I'll take the firewhisky."

"Hmm. I 'ave never tasted it. Is it good?"

Dora laughed. "Don't drink it all at once and only drink two bottles max. You'll end up breathing fire otherwise, and it has odd effects."

Fleur laughed a little nervously. Dora Tonks was in her flat. On her sofa. Wearing her clothes. They had just kissed.

It seemed like an odd sort of dream.

Fleur levitated the bottle and glasses into the living room and set them down on the table, flicking her wand so the bottle poured small amounts into each glass.

She intended to sip politely at her firewhisky but the first sip was so warm and invigorating that it made her drink more until the glass was finished and she poured another.

Dora looked a little alarmed. "Slow down a bit, there, Fleur. Especially if you're not used to it."

Fleur suddenly became aware of how pretty she was. Dora was very, very pretty, and she wanted to kiss her again. Very much.

"Is that your sister?" Dora asked, looking at the picture on the wall.

"Mm-hm," Fleur said, standing over to it, Dora following her. "'Er name is Gabrielle. She's nine."

"She looks a lot like you."

Fleur scoffed. "She is prettier than me! Nicer, too."

She found that tears were pooling in her eyes again, but this time, she didn't care. "I don't want that for 'er," she whispered, still looking at her sister, her vision blurred with tears.

"I don't old men leering at 'er in the street. I don't want people yelling at 'er in nightclubs."

"What happened? In the club?"

Fleur sighed. "A boy started talking to me, same as always. 'E wouldn't leave me alone. And then 'is girlfriend told me to leave him alone or she would kick my teeth in."

"Oh Fleur. I shouldn't have suggested it at all. I just – I wanted you to have a good time."

"I know," she said, putting her glass down on the bookcase and wiping her eyes with a tissue. "Sometimes – I theenk I am so lucky. All these things – zey are because of my family. I 'ave zis flat because of my family. I 'ave my car because of my family. Everything I 'ave 'ere is because of zem and for zem. I theenk I would give up and go 'ome, only for zem. I want to make the best of myself for zem, but eet's like people are pushing me down all the time."

"Pull yourself up, Fleur. Fuck the perverts in the street. Fuck that girl in the club. Fuck all those people in the Order. Say it with me, come on –  FUCK THEM ALL!"

Fleur laughed, desperately shushing her. "I can't! There'll be noise complaints."

"Come on Fleur. Just once. Say it with me-"

And this time, Fleur said it with her – "FUCK ZEM ALL!!"


	7. Chapter 7

Fleur woke the next morning with a headache and a parched throat. She dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen. She fetched a glass and filled it with water from her wand, but almost dropped it onto the carpet when she saw Dora asleep on the sofa.

Oh. Oh yes, so that had happened.

Dora was on her side, her hand curled under the pillow, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Her pink hair stuck out against the white of the pillow vibrantly, but her eyelashes were startlingly long and black against her cheeks.

Fleur drank her water and rinsed the glass, and deciding she needed something stronger, turned on the kettle. It was horribly loud in the still morning and Dora jolted awake and promptly screamed.

Fleur jumped so hard she burned her hand off the hot kettle. "Dora!"

She raised her head, blinking blearily. "I – oh....yes. Fleur?"

She sounded perfectly normal, stretching and wiping her eyes.

"You screamed!"

"Did I?" She asked groggily. "I suppose I was dreaming. I do that sometimes – hey, are you making tea?"

"Do you want some?"

"Please."

Fleur had still not quite recovered from the scream, her heart racing even as she opened the cupboard. "Sugar?"

"One. Please."

It was suddenly very awkward, neither knowing exactly what to say. As Fleur passed Dora her cup, she could not help but think of her lips on hers, Dora's arms around her waist, her own fingers in Dora's hair for the briefest moment. She longed to touch it again, and had the maddest thought, wondering if it would taste like candy floss if she kissed it.

That's just creepy. Stop.

"Did you 'ave a nice sleep?" She asked finally, retreating to small talk.

"I....yes. It was very pleasant. You?"

"Very pleasant," she echoed. "The noise outside did not bother you?"

"No – is there something in this?"

Fleur blinked. "Just something to get rid of a 'eadache. I'm sorry, is eet bothering you?"

"No," she said gratefully. "You're a lifesaver, actually."

Fleur smiled, sipping her tea. "You're welcome."

Dora yawned, putting down her cup. Unfortunately, it tilted on the edge of the table and the remnants spilled into her lap.

Fleur's lips twitched, though she tried to hide it as Dora sighed. "It seems I can't be graceful for five minutes. Oh shit – it looks like I've pissed myself."

Fleur held a hand to her mouth, laughing properly at her face as she stood. Her shorts were completely drenched along the front, but as she pointed her wand, the stain dried.

"I theenk you are the clumsiest person I 'ave ever met," Fleur said, putting down her own empty cup. Dora waved her wand and they went flying towards the sink, washing themselves.

"Oh no – you don't 'ave to do zat! You're a guest."

"You were nice enough to let me stay here last night so it's the least I can do, actually. Breakfast?"

"I cannot cook very well," Fleur admitted. "So it'll probably be toast."

Dora twinkled. "Who said anything about you cooking?"

 

As it turned out, Dora was an amazing cook. She made the best scrambled eggs Fleur had ever tasted in her life, along with French toast. Although when she had woken up, the thought of eating made her nauseous, upon the headache disappearing Fleur had become ravenous.

"Zis is amazing," she said, practically shovelling food in. "I actually theenk I should kidnap you and make you cook for me every day."

Dora shrugged modestly, though she glowed. "What can I say, I love food."

"You and my father would get along. 'E was worried I was not eating enough in Eengland – now I can tell 'im about zis feast."

Dora had twisted her hair into an adorable pink little topknot. Fleur smiled at it.

"What's funny?"

"You," she said, twirling her fork in her fingers. "You look cute with your 'air in a topknot like zat. It suits you."

Dora examined her reflection in the back of her spoon. "Hmm, perhaps it would look better a different colour...."

Her face squeezed again, her hair turning an unflattering shade of green, which clashed with her eyes. "Thoughts?"

"You look like – 'ow do you say....like petit pois."

"Petit pois! Haven't a clue what they are. Are they nice?" She asked hopefully.

Fleur shook her head, struggling to find the English word. "Zey are round green vegetables, and zey are disgusting."

Dora pulled a face, catching on. "I look like a pea?"

"Yes, but one with a topknot."

 

Despite knowing Dora could apparate, Fleur offered to drive her home, looking for an excuse to spend more time with her. Dora accepted immediately and sat into the car. Her hair was still green, still up in the topknot, and she thoughtfully looked at the orange paint. "It's like an oompa-loompa."

"A what?" Fleur asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

"An oompa loompa. Little orange things from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

Fleur shook her head in bafflement as she pulled away from the curb. "I 'ave never 'eard of that."

"You've never heard of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? It's one of Dad's favourite books, and he read it with me when I was little. You have to read it. It's about-"

"Let me guess," she said, smiling at how enthusiastic she was. "A chocolate factory?"

"Well yes, but it's so much better than that!"

"Which turn?"

Dora blinked. "Um....I don't know. I don't think I've ever actually driven to my house before."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "So do you want to apparate from 'ere or what?"

"No, I'll find it," she said quickly. "I think it's near Chiswick. Yeah."

Fleur took the turn for Chiswick, about 99% sure that Dora was completely guessing.

She glanced over at the other woman briefly to see her looking like she was carefully choosing her words, fidgeting with a bracelet on her wrist.

"Do you think....what happened last night...."

Fleur's face warmed a little, and she looked back to the road.

Perhaps seeing this, Dora hurriedly spoke again. "I mean – we can forget about it. If you want."

"I don't want to forget about eet," she said softly.

"I mean....Fleur, you're practically still a kid. You're probably just figuring things out and maybe I-"

"I am not," she said firmly, looking over once more. "Dora, I 'ave known I like girls and boys for a long time."

"Really? Have you dated girls?"

"No," she said honestly. "I 'ave never even kissed a girl before. That was a new one. I did 'ave a boyfriend for a few months but 'e was boring so I dumped 'im."

Dora raised a hand to cover her smile. "You dumped him because he was boring?"

Fleur looked back at the road. "All 'e ever talked about was how beautiful I was. It got tiresome. You?"

"Uh....I've had a few. In fact, Mum was asking last night if you were my girlfriend."

Fleur smiled. "Am I, do you theenk?"

Dora gave a proper, wicked grin. "I'm ready if you are."

Fleur smiled properly, her heart soaring, just as Dora, easily distracted as always, squinted at the speed. "How fast can this thing go?"

Fleur shrugged as best she could. "I 'ave never gone beyond sixty or seventy. Too nervous."

"Don't you want to know? Can it go as fast as a broom?"

Fleur scoffed. "'Ave you never watched car racing?"

"No," she said cheerfully. "Is that a thing? Muggles are so weird. So it can proper fly, yeah? Actually, have you ever tried enchanting it to fly? Might be quicker."

"Absolutely not. Cars are not for enchanting, ozzer than for simple thengs like colour, type or size. They gain consciousness and tend to run away."

"Wicked!" Dora breathed. Fleur was sure she was even more of a child at times than Gabrielle. The patch of road ahead was mostly empty, and Fleur sped up a little, and hearing Dora's little gasp, she decided to be truly reckless in order to impress her and let down the roof. She had never done this before and in fact had been a little wary of doing so since performing the charm. The cool January air bit into their cheeks immediately, and Dora's multicoloured scarf whipped behind her in the wind as she stood up, whooping in glee.

"THIS IS FUCKING LIVING, THIS IS!"

Fleur giggled helplessly. "You're mad! Sit down before you fall out!"

"I won't fall out," Dora called. "You need to be a bit less careful, sometimes!"

Fleur took this on board. Dora sat down and she closed the roof again, putting her foot down on the clutch in sheer recklessness. Dora whooped again as they sped up, passing car after car, leaving them all behind them, and they both laughed in shock and exhilaration. Fleur looked across at Dora, at her laughing face, her sparkling green eyes, and Dora looked back. With a sudden unpleasant thump, the car careened off the road and into the grass, where Fleur stamped her foot down on the brake and it screeched to an unhealthy sounding halt.

Breathless, her fingers tight around the steering wheel, she began to laugh again, and Dora joined in, both of them laughing at what seemed the funniest thing ever.

"Oh – oh goodness," Fleur managed, letting go of the steering wheel and looking at Dora. "I theenk that was a little dangerous."

"Well think of it this way," Dora said breathlessly. "Wasn't it fun?"

"Never mind fun," she said, trying to sound cross, though she could still feel the smile on her face. "We might have been seriously 'urt...."

Dora was staring at her, and she trailed off. "What is eet? Do I 'ave something on my face?"

"No. When you were laughing, you just – I don't know. You looked a million times more beautiful."

Fleur's cheeks warmed, though she felt the smile grow a million times bigger. "So did you, actually. More....'appy."

She really wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her so much it felt like she had to almost physically restrain herself.

"Dora?"

"Hm?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Could you turn your 'air back to pink?"

Dora grinned. "Why? Can't stand how sexy I am when I resemble a pea?"

Fleur hit out at her shoulder playfully. "No! Because I like the pink better, is all. Ozzerwise I shall 'ave to call you petit pois for the rest of your life."

Dora reached up and undid her green hair, shaking it around her shoulders until Fleur realised it was now streaked with orange. "Tough. I am in oompa-loompa form now. None of your hurtful taunts shall reach me – oomph!"

Fleur had kissed her with so much enthusiasm that she fell back against her seat, but Dora returned it with equal force, at least until she broke away and winced.

"What is eet?" Fleur asked, disappointed.

"The window rolly thing is sticking into my arse."

Fleur laughed, rocking back onto her own seat. "Be serious."

"I am!" She huffed, struggling to sit. "It was poking right into me."

She had no sooner straightened herself than she took hold of Fleur's collar, pulling her towards her and gently pressing her lips to hers. "I think I'll apparate," she murmured with a smile. "You okay to go home?"

"Yes," Fleur said, smiling back. "Perfect."


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Fleur did after work on Monday was to go to the bookshop in Diagon Alley for the first time. She searched but didn't find, and upon asking was stared at, and she was sure it was more than just for her looks.

She wasn't deterred however, and found herself down a side street, where she found a charity bookshop so small it was just a little room. It overflowed with books, so much so that they filled the bookshelves around the walls and sat in stacks everywhere, from the windowsill to the floor. Even the girl who presumably worked there seemed swamped with them, the counter in front of her overflowing. She was a scary looking girl. She read a tattered paperback, her legs in striped red and black tights, crossed over each other and resting on the one empty space of the counter with a casual air.

She black hair so dark it was obviously dyed. A crooked tag that was pined to her robes read ESME. She had looked up when Fleur entered, but went back to her book.

"Excuse me," Fleur said, a little nervously.

The girl looked up, and smiled. This was an encouraging sign. Fleur relaxed.

"Do you 'ave a book – I theenk it is called Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?"

"I could look," she said, and Fleur heard an accent in her voice, one she couldn't quite place.

"Thank you."

She dragged herself up off her chair, waved her wand so a little ladder shot over to the shelves, and climbed up.

"I'm afraid I don't know what genre it is," Fleur continued. All I know is zat eet is about little orange people called oompa – loompas. 'Ave you 'eard of it?"

"Yeah," Esme said, glancing down. "Of course, but I don't think we have it here."

"Perhaps eet isn't here then," Fleur said in disappointment.

"Wait a sec," she pushed the ladder towards a section of muggle books, and made a triumphant noise as she slid it out.

Esme came down the ladder with it in her arms, and smiled in return as she did. "Thank you so much!"

"Goodbye," Fleur said, once she had paid. "Thank you for finding it."

"Have a nice day," Esme said, and went back to her book as she left the shop.

 

"Zis man is a psychopath!"

Dora laughed, adjusting herself in her chair. They were in the café again, at Fleur's lunch break. Dora told her she had just finished work. She wasn't sure what Dora's work schedule was – the most the other woman told her was that it was "flexible."

Her eyes looked tired, though she was bright and chirpy as always.

Fleur couldn't imagine much worse than working with Mad-Eye, but Dora said she really enjoyed the job, and anyway, Moody was a brilliant auror and a good laugh.

Fleur accepted this praise grudgingly. She had still not forgiven him for the creature comment.

"How is Wonka a psychopath?!"

"'E tortures children! Stretches zem out and turns zem into big blueberries! Is zis an Eenglish theng I don't know about?"

Dora laughed at her expression. "It's all part of the fun! It's the way Roald Dahl is – his writing is completely mad and it makes it amazing. Please tell me you're going to finish it – I still can't believe you went and got it!"

"I was zere for sometheng else," Fleur lied. "Eet was advertised and I remembered you mentioned it."

She hoped she sounded casual and not like a stalker. The truth was that she itched to find out more about Dora, and she had always found that a person's favourite book revealed a great deal of their character.

"And yes, I am going to finish eet. Eet's funny – I thenk I will send eet to Gabrielle when I am finished."

Dora impatiently pushed her long brown hair (part of a stealth test, apparently, Fleur didn't like to ask) out of the way so she could practically inhale half her plate of chips.

"Sorreh," she said, her mouth full, then gave a massive swallow. "I'm starved. Moody had me going all last night, testing me for this that and the other. I haven't even got home yet."

Fleur stared. "'Ave you slept?"

Dora shook her head. "No time."

"Go 'ome and go straight to bed, Dora – why did you even come here?!"

"Because I wanted to see you," she said, taking a massive bite of her sandwich and mumbling something unintelligible.

"Excuse me?"

She swallowed. "I said, what was your favourite book when you were little?"

Fleur was flummoxed. "One? I don't thenk I could have chose."

"You're a bookworm, then?"

She shrugged, not liking the term. The simple truth was that she had always preferred books to people, because they didn't stare, laugh or glare at her. "Maybe."

"I never really read much. No time now but Dad used to read to me, when I was little. I can't really concentrate."

This sounded very alien to Fleur, but she thought she could full well understand how Dora couldn't concentrate on a book. She was a ball of hyperactive energy, someone with the attention span of a fly.

"Perhaps you 'ave just not found the right book," she suggested, and Dora smiled.

Fleur leaned in closer over the table. "'Ow is....your aunt and everything? Nobody keeps me informed."

Dora's expression darkened slightly, her smile fading. She pushed the last few chips around her plate. "Still loose. Still crazy. Arthur Weasley's looking much better though."

"Good," she said in relief. "I 'ated the thought of 'im injured. 'E is a nice man."

"Yes he is," Dora said, sounding a little surprised. "Do you know him?"

Fleur shrugged. "I met 'im once at 'Ogwarts. 'E was very kind to me after...."

She cleared her throat, pushing away the thoughts. She had been shocked, frozen, sitting alone in the stands. Arthur Weasley had brought her tea, too sweet, too hot.

_"It's good for shock."_

She had never forgotten it.

"'Is wife was good to 'Arry Potter."

Dora nodded. "The Weasleys are good people. If you ask me, Molly would adopt the poor kid in five seconds if Dumbledore would allow it."

Fleur looked at her watch. "I 'ave to go. You'll go 'ome and sleep, won't you?"

Dora rolled her eyes. "Yes Fleur, I will."

"Good."

She lingered a little, unsure of how to say goodbye, but eventually settled for a kiss on the cheek. Dora smiled, but her eyes still looked troubled. "Very French. See you, Fleur."

"See you, Dora."

 

A wet and dreary January shifted into a slightly brighter February, and Fleur began to get a little more hopeful. She was still sometimes struck with the loneliness of being homesick, the realisation that everyone around her were strangers and she was alone in the city. But it no longer made her want to pack up and get the quickest portkey home, for Dora and her family, be it through flooing, letters or visits, always made her cheerful again.

Looking for new reading material, she had returned to the second hand bookshop. This was something else that was looking up: she had made another friend. More visits meant more talking to Esme, which revealed that she and Fleur had two things in common, and one was a love of books. True, their tastes were different, and while Esme admitted to reading everything and anything, Fleur liked to stick to trashy French romance.

They had another, bigger thing in common though: they were both far away from home. Esme had been in England longer than Fleur, at a year and a half, and had attended school at Hogwarts, but she still missed her home in Ireland. Fleur asked her which county she was from, and she grimaced.

"I bet you haven't heard of it. I'm from Carlow."

"I.....'aven't heard of it."

Today, Fleur arrived after work.

Esme looked up as she entered, and fixed the place in her book with a torn piece of paper, putting it down as she stood up. "I've got some more books for you. New donations."

"Oh! Thank you! Well – what are zey about?"

"Haven't a clue," Esme replied, reaching under the counter and plonking a large stack of books on top of it. "Some old French guy died and his daughter brought them in yesterday. Take your pick."

Fleur immediately began flicking open the top one, and then involuntarily winced.

"What is it?"

She mimed retching. "I don't thenk I want zis one."

Esme peered with interest at the offending passage, and then tried to translate it in vain. "He.....looked at something big?"

"'E did much more zan zat! And zen zey messed around with chocolate mousse – _mes yeux_!"

"Do you have a problem with the gay bits?" Esme asked, apparently amused.

"Non! Of course not – eet is just zat my eyes are innocent and pure, thank you. Zat is the problem with romance books – everything is penis and licking things!"

Esme was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of her eyes, and she hurriedly wiped them with her sleeve. "Oh Fleur," she managed. "Fucking hell."


	9. Chapter 9

Fleur flooed her parents for a chat, telling them about Dora and her intention to invite her over for dinner, but her mother was less than enthused.

"Isn't this all a bit....fast?" She asked.

Fleur blinked. "I met her two months ago."

"Exactly, sweetheart. I just don't want you to get hurt, especially when she's so much older than you."

"It's barely even four years! There's five years between you and Papa."

"That's different. We knew what we were getting into and we were responsible enough-"

"You were twenty," she pointed out. "That's only a year older than me. And I'm hardly asking her to move in. All we're doing is.....eating. And chatting.".

"Don't listen to your mother, Fleur," Victor said, always the romantic. "Follow your heart."

Apolline rolled her eyes. "You are just like your father, you know. Jumping headfirst into situations and having that temper."

Fleur could have pointed out that it took very little for her father to lose his temper, but when he did nobody took him seriously because it was over stupid things and generally just hilarious when he tried to lay down the law as the patriarch of the family.

Apolline, however, had more the same temper as Fleur. It took a lot to get her angry – but when she was angry, she was angry. In fact, as the veela traits were stronger in her, an angry Apolline was frightening. Fleur still remembered being six years old and screaming in terror when her mother had suddenly grown a beak and small scaly wings. She had immediately stopped herself, switching back and comforting her, apologising until she stopped crying, but Fleur had never forgotten it. She didn't even remember at this point what she had done to make her mother so angry, but she apparently had never done so since.

Strangely, it had frightened her a lot more than her grandmother's true veela form, but maybe that was because Fleur had never been close to her, and had always known that her grandmother wasn't human. Her mother transforming had been like suddenly transfiguring a Disney princess into a pterodactyl.

 

It turned out she didn't have to invite Dora over. She came herself one evening. Her hair was a lank, dull brown, tumbling down her back. She was shaking.

Fleur stopped in the doorway, her smile fading. "What's wrong?"

"Bellatrix," she half whispered. "I met Bellatrix, Fleur. Oh Merlin – she's fucking crazy, she's crazy, Fleur-"

"Inside," Fleur said, moving back.

Dora came inside and sat on the couch whilst Fleur made up a drink, an invention of Mamè's, which blended spices and warmth together for a cure to shock.

Dora wrapped her fingers around the cup, but as she drank, they loosened.

"Tell me," Fleur spoke gently.

"I was so stupid. I thought – we got a tip, and we went to this house, me and some of the Order,-"

She swallowed. "They'd made themselves at home. It was a kip, filled with rubbish, with – with dead things-"

She shuddered. Fleur reached for her hand, and squeezed gently.

"They had a child, Fleur. A muggle child. They had killed his parents, and they were torturing him for fun. He was in a cage, hung from the roof."

Dora's eyes went to the ceiling of Fleur's flat, as if she could still see it.

"He was no more than two or three," she said, her voice breaking. "Little pudgy cheeks, curly red hair. He kept crying for his parents – and they laughed. Bellatrix laughed. Said she was clearing up the scum."

"Oh Dora," Fleur murmured. She was still holding her hand. "Did you save 'im?"

Dora sniffed. "I was too angry, too hasty. Bellatrix killed the child. They all got away. She said she would be back, and seeing as I was family, I would make it to the top of her list."

Fleur was almost speechless.

Dora put down her cup and put her face in her hands, mousy hair spilling through her fingers. "My fault," she whispered, her voice edged with tears. "Mad – Eye would have done it. Mad – Eye could have saved him, if I hadn't-"

"Oh Dora," she said again, and she took her in a hug, feeling her trembling as she began to cry.

"'Ow were you to know? You were just doing your job. You did all you could."

"Not enough," she said, choked. "Never enough. I hate it, I hate it so much, how they just.....she was a child. They were muggles."

"Zat didn't matter to zem," Fleur said fiercely. "Eet never matters. Anyone who gets in zer way – zey just kill zem off like _zat_! Zey killed Cedric just because 'e was in ze way! Zey kill muggles for _fun_."

Dora sniffed, pulling away and drawing her sleeve across her eyes. "Fucking idiot," she mumbled. "I'm such a fucking idiot. Mad – Eye would have done it right."

It had been clear to Fleur that Moody was Dora's hero, and she had never been more confused as to why. He just seemed to her like a rude and abrupt man.

"I'm sorry, Fleur," she whispered. "Not something you should worry about."

"Of course eet is," she replied, her voice edged. "We all should worry about eet, but you know the Ministry will ignore eet. We need to fight for 'im, Dora, for ze child, all of us togezzer. I could 'ave 'elped."

"It's not your battle."

"Eet wasn't. Eet became my battle when zey killed my friend. Now eet's everyone's battle, and I for one am not going to stand back and take eet. Next time, we are going to fucking kill zem all, for 'im. Next time, I am fucking coming."

This time, Dora didn't argue.


	10. Chapter 10

Dora was shaken, and Fleur, worried about her going home, invited her to sleep on the couch again. However, Dora refused to floo her parents. She curled up in a ball, and though her eyes were closed.

Fleur moved forward uncertainly. "Dora?" She said softly. "Dora, come on. Zey don't know me. Won't zey be worried about you?"

Dora kept her eyes closed. "I don't want Mum to see me like this. It'll worry her more."

Fleur bit her lip, but she fetched her floo powder from the little jar she kept on the mantelpiece, murmuring the name of the house Dora had told her about months before.

"'Ello?" She said nervously, seeing only the legs of a table. "Meester Tonks? Meesus Tonks?"

She hated the way her accent sounded, the way it mutilated the words.

There was a shifting noise, and then a portly man bent down beside the fire. He looked puzzled, but kindly. "Yes? What can I do you for?"

"My name is Fleur Delacour."

She saw the little smile that tugged on his mouth at the name, and it made her cheeks heat up from a lot more than the flames.

"Nymphadora wanted me to floo. She's staying zee night at my flat."

"Oh yes?"

"On zee couch," she said quickly, not sure why she felt she had to defend herself. "She did not look fit for apparation and I'm not much good-"

The door opened, and there was a woman's voice. "Is Dora back, Ted?"

Ted shifted over. "Fleur. She says Dora's at her flat."

The woman crouched by the fire, relief spreading over her face. She had the look of someone who had been a pretty girl, once, but worry had long since carved wrinkles into her face.

"As long as she's safe. Is she okay?"

Fleur sighed, but decided not to go into too much detail, especially if it would upset her.

"She was upset – I thenk eet was because of work."

"Is she there?" She asked. "Can we speak to her?"

Fleur wasn't sure how she could explain it, but thankfully Ted saved her.

"I think she's asleep. She'll be okay, Andy. Our Dora's tough as old boots."

Andromeda rubbed her hands together, her eyes unsure. "I suppose," she said finally. "But you have got all the charms and everything?"

"Of course," Fleur reassured her. The safety precautions had been one of the first things she had done in her flat.

"Good," she replied, and her shoulders relaxed a little. She even offered a tentative little smile. "Nice to meet you, Fleur."

"Nice to meet you, too."

 

Fleur stood up from the fire, and Dora said hoarsely, "Oh Merlin. That means they'll want you over for fucking dinner or something now."

Fleur sat at the edge of the enlarged couch. "Dora, you should have told them yourself."

Dora shook her head, sitting up and finally opening her eyes. "I told you, no. Since when do you tell me what to do?"

"In case you 'ave forgotten," Fleur said icily. "Eet is my flat you're staying in tonight. I'd mind my tongue."

She slumped, picking at a loose thread in her robes. "I'm sorry. I'm just...."

"I know," Fleur murmured. "Just don't.....take eet out on me or them, okay? We're just trying to 'elp you."

"I know," Dora echoed. "It's hard for everyone. You too."

Fleur's eyes lingered on her face. "Especially since nobody bozzers inviting me along to thengs."

"Oh let that go, Fleur," she snapped. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all."

Fleur looked up into her eyes, a tired shade of brown, and she softened, reaching up to cup her face. "I know. But I am not a china doll, Dora. I will not break, and I know you will not, either. You are strong, and I 'ave seen it. You can fight. We will get justice for 'im, yes? For all of zem. Where is your beautiful smile?"

Dora managed a watery one. "Fleur?"

"Yes?"

"I.....really like you. Really really really."

Fleur laughed softly. "I really like you too, Nymphadora," she murmured, kissing her lightly.

Dora pulled back, looking thoughtful. "Do you know, I think we've just had our first argument."

Fleur shrugged. "Eet's inevitable. At least it wasn't about something stupid. I was always arguing with Roger."

Dora moved over in her makeshift bed. "Tell me all the gossip."

Fleur shifted in beside her, very aware of the heat from her body, of the urge to touch her. She fought it, pulling the blankets over them both and waving her wand so the lights turned down low. "Nothing to tell. 'E annoyed me. Not even a good kisser. Like a slimy worm was poking itself against my teeth."

"What about the other guy? Pierre?"

"You remembered 'is name," she said, and grinned. "Well, 'e lasted longer. 'E even came to my graduation dinner, but 'e was only really good for one theng."

"What was that?" Dora asked, puzzled.

"'E was one 'ell of a kisser. Best – 'ow is eet you Brits say? Best snogging of my life."

"Oi!" Dora hit her with a pillow. "Wasn't I better?"

"Hmm," Fleur said thoughtfully. "You were nicer. Softer. But 'e was a better kisser. 'E 'ad nothing else going for 'im. Dumb as a fish and shallow as a paddling pool."

Dora smiled. "I had a boyfriend, too. Last year of Hogwarts."

"Oh?"

"Tom," she said, looking a little uncomfortable. "I was kind of just figuring myself out at that stage. But the trouble was that I didn't really figure that out until I slept with him."

"Oh," Fleur repeated, her cheeks going a little warm. Sometimes he forgot how much older and more experienced Dora was. "What....what was it like?"

"Very....slow. Weird. He grunted a lot, but I really just wished he would hurry the fuck up."

"Dora!" Fleur said, though she was laughing.

Dora shrugged, her smile slipping a little. "And there was Yvette."

"Yvette?"

She shrugged, suddenly very interested in the quilt. "Yvette," she said, as though it hurt to say her name. "She had legs that could stretch to Australia."

Fleur was silent. She did not like to think of this Yvette with legs so long they could reach other continents. It made her stomach twist horribly, and especially at the sound of Dora's voice when she said her name.

"Are you jealous?"

"No," she said, unconvincingly. "No, eet's just – I mean, you sound so....experienced. I'm like a child next to you."

"You're not," Dora replied. "Anyway, we don't have to do anything if you're not ready. You know that, don't you?"

Fleur wriggled around, smiling at her. "Of course."

Her eyes were still clouded, and their smiles faded. "Do you think you'll be all right?"

"Can you stay with me?"

"Of course," Fleur repeated, and she turned off the lights with her wand and they cuddled under the blankets.

"Dora?"

"Mm?"

"Will you have nightmares? Scream again?"

Dora was silent. "Probably," she said at last. "I usually do. Do you mind?"

"No," Fleur said, and she kissed her chin. "Not at all."


End file.
